


Caramel Cream

by gummycola



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Food Kink, M/M, Porn in second and third chapters, Rimming, Rival pastry chefs, UKUS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummycola/pseuds/gummycola
Summary: When pastry chef Alfred finds his cake destroyed, he confronts the person he thinks is responsible. The results are unexpected, but altogether, undeniably sweet.(UKUS fun with cake and icing, plus a lot of fluff and romance. Porn is in second and third chapters only, you can read one and four and still get the story!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!  
> You can still get a fluffy story and avoid the porn, just read one and four.  
> The food stuff is in chapter three only.  
> This is a complete story, and each chapter goes together, but I split it up this way just in case.   
> Hope you enjoy!

Three hundred peonies. Three. Hundred. Peonies. Six tiers, all different flavors, all frosted with buttercream, and between them, surrounding them, trailing down them, pooling at their bottom, there were _three hundred goddamn peonies._

Ekaterina had done some sort of secret Ukrainian magic to the frosting, sprinkling in and adding on touches of metallic silver that, when they caught the light, glowed mesmerizingly. Kiku's flawless sugar work decorated every tier alongside Heracles' swooping, intricate piping. It never should have worked, the eclectic pairing of delicate sugar webs and alternating patterns, yet somehow, it all came together. That's how it went, and that's what Alfred loved so much about his work—that, and the copious amount of pastry he got to eat.  
  
He accepted a swig of whatever Felix was drinking out of a plastic container that had once contained gum paste, but bowed out of the celebrating briefly to check his emails. His eyes glazed over as he trashed the spam, then widened at an email from one of his best clients.  
  
_Al - I've gone ahead and ordered a cake elsewhere for the gala - pls forgive me!_  
  
Ordered elsewhere? What did _ordered elsewhere_ mean? There were only two 'elsewheres' to order from unless you hired a baker from the capital an hour away. And Francis refused to work with this client. Which meant—  
  
Alfred's skin was a touch too hot for liquor alone. He breathed out deeply, his mouth forming a precise 'o' as he tried—and failed—to control himself. His fingers were dialing the number before he even realized what he was doing, punching in digits he had managed to delete from his phone's memory but not his own.   
  
Unsurprisingly, Arthur ignored his call. Al cursed a bit, rejoined his crew and finished off Felix' drink, ignoring his insulted shout. They relaxed for a bit, and the banter and buzz helped Al push the loss of his customer and her shit-ton of money to the back of his mind.  
  
He was cleaning up the shop and waving off Toris' demands he go home and rest when his phone buzzed loudly on the stainless steel tabletop. He picked it up with a sigh, grabbing his bag quickly and heading out with a wave as he finally answered the call.  
  
"Hi."  
  
Silence reigned. Al glanced around the darkening street, hurrying toward his apartment.  
  
"Alfred. Ah. Erm - Hello."  
  
Al smiled before he could stop himself, physically pulling his hand up to wipe the expression down, down, down.  
  
"Arthur. Are you making a cake for Lynette Rodriguez?"

Silence again, then Arthur practically growled.  
  
"I am not inclined to share my client list with the competition."  
  
Alfred kicked his apartment door open, cringing when it sent Matt's boots skidding across the floor.  
  
"Seeing as she's my fucking client, I don't see what the problem is—aside from, you know, that you're stealing clients from me."  
  
Arthur sputtered and cursed, sputtered and cursed, sputtered and cursed. It was familiar enough to weaken Alfred's guard, and when Arthur finally spoke, his heart slowed and sped alarmingly from the emotional whiplash.  
  
See, Arthur was crying. "You. You ungrateful, horrible little brat. I stole from you? I stole from you?" Al pulled the phone back when Arthur's voice vaulted into a screech.  
  
A beat. Alfred pulled off his shoes, scratched the cat in greeting.  
  
"Are you drunk, Art?"  
  
Fuck, fuck, fuck. A misstep, and a wound for them both. Not Art, never Art any longer, fuck—  
  
"I despise you. Do you know why Lynette came to me? She said she wanted something a little more subtle. A little more refined. See, you can't make cartoonish monstrosities forever, love. The novelty wears off."  
  
Art, Art, Art. Love, love, love. Al cocked his head to the side, studying the blank TV and scratching his leg.  
  
"You got me there, Art. If people want the boring old people cakes from the 80s, I can't help. Hey! I'll just send 'em straight to you! Sound good?"  
  
"I'll happily take clients off your hands, Alfred. Send me the ones with actual taste."  
  
"God knows you need them, asshole!"  
  
A snort. Then a sniff. Arthur's voice was a little wobbly. "I'm actually entirely too busy, you know. I really ought to have turned dear Lynette away, but I could hardly leave her in your incapable hands."  
  
Alfred was barely listening. He seethed, silently chanting _fuck you fuck you fucking hate_ —  
  
"On that note, I'll be off. What's that you said, before? 'There's room enough for two of us' and all that."  
  
Alfred's last-word-o-meter was beeping and smoking. "Yeah. Yeah, well. My team just finished the best fucking cake, like ever, and it's for a really important client too. And it's like, way better than your boring old man shit. So. Yeah. Whatever."  
  
_Nicely done, Alfred. Really showed him._ He thought bitterly.

"Well by golly. What a feat. Goodbye, Alfred."  
  
Alfred gaped like a fish as the line clicked.

* * *

Alfred was greeted the next morning by a sight he could never have imagined. Heracles, wide-eyed and trembling, waiting outside of the bakery doors.  
  
Before Alfred could speak, Heracles groaned out a greeting.  
  
"Just, please. Just turn around and go back home. Let's all go to sleep and will it to be a nightmare. Okay?"  
  
Alfred blinked, polishing off his Starbucks as the two simply stared at each other.  
  
Suddenly, the door burst open revealing Kiku, absolutely filthy with flour and bits of pastry. He colored and paled at the sight of Alfred, his eyes welling up with unshed tears.  
  
"Don't come in."  
  
"What the hell is wrong with y'all? What's going on?"  
  
Someone wailed inside. Ignoring Kiku and Heracle's protests, Alfred shouldered his way through, making a beeline for the back, where-  
  
He stopped. He stared. He dropped to the floor in disbelief.  
  
The cake was dead. On its side, smashed to pieces. Delicate sugar work shattered on the floor. Peonies shredded, surrounding the mess like a casket at a funeral.  
  
Ekaterina shrieked again. Toris went to Alfred's side, kneeling to grasp his shoulder with a grim expression.  
  
"It was. I opened and—I found it like this. I don't know, Alfred. How could someone do this? Why?"  
  
Why? Because they were a bitter, cruel old man. Because they hated him. Because they were jealous, because... Because, despite what Alfred had believed deep down, Arthur really wasn't proud of him, really didn't want him to succeed, really hated him.  
  
He must have really, really hated him.  
The crew got to work at disposing of the corpse, and Alfred rolled up his sleeves, stonefaced. He mixed batter and snapped out orders. He ignored pleas to call the cops - they'd just get in the way. Around three, Ekaterina demanded he take a break and sat him down with a sandwich and a particularly tight hug. Had she rested her boobs on his head?  
  
He plunked out a text to Francis and his phone rang nearly instantly.  
  
"I'm on my way - Antonio is with me, and Gilbert and Lovino are coming too. How much is left to finish?"  
  
Alfred sniffled, chuckling a little. "I love you a lot."  
  
By midnight, they'd managed to put together a close enough approximation of the client’s original vision. Al would knock down the price, a huge hit to his wallet, and potentially his reputation. But his quick texts with the client suggested they were happy enough.  
  
As the crew dispersed for the night, Francis pulled Alfred aside, raising a hand when the exhausted American started to speak.  
  
"This day has been too long for this. But I have known Arthur for over a decade. He's a bastard, but I truly don't believe he did this."  
  
Alfred shook his head. "It was the last thing I mentioned to him when we had a fight last night, and the next day it's destroyed. You know he's unpredictable when he's drunk. Who else would do this?"  
  
Francis' expression was grim. He sighed, rubbing Alfred's shoulders briefly.  
  
"Well, if you intend to do something about it, sleep on it first, oui? Don't end up in prison."  
  
Alfred didn't sleep. He propped himself up with his laptop, a coffee pot, and a baseball bat. He waited out the six hours before Toris, Felix and Berwald came in to load the cake up, and buzzed around in the background, whispering frantic orders as they loaded up.  
  
As he tried to follow them out, Felix stopped him with a hand on his chest and a quirked eyebrow.  
  
“You're like, totally in the way. Go home and go to sleep. No one at the venue needs to see you like this." He patted Alfred's cheek affectionately before closing the door in his face.  
  
Alfred paced a bit, plotting his next move. He could go home, go to sleep, forget this ever happened. Maybe Francis was right. Maybe Arthur didn't smash the cake.  
  
But if not him, who? Who else hated Alfred enough to do something like this?  
  
He could still hear those words. _I despise you._  
  
Alfred grabbed his bag and headed for the station. 

* * *

Arthur hated mornings. The smell of tea and baked goods could only do so much to lift his spirits, and his staff knew it was best to give him a wide berth until 11 or so, when his heavy brows were a little less furrowed and his dark mutterings a little less dark.  
  
This careful atmosphere was broken quite violently when a loud, sleep-deprived American slapped the front door open and demanded to see "Curmudgeon McFartFace," AKA, Arthur Kirkland.   
  
Emma closed the display case a little too hard, whipping around the counter and trying to push Alfred back toward the door.  
  
"Alfred, you know I love you, but please, come back in a few hours? Maybe when my shift is over?"  
  
Alfred observed her slim hand with raised brows for a moment before gently pulling her wrist away.  
  
"Sorry, but it can't wait. I need to see your asshole boss, and I need to see him now."  
  
Emma frowned, opening her mouth to refuse him, but the door to the back swung open a moment later, revealing Grumpbutt von Britishbastard himself.

 _He has the audacity to look surprised?_ Alfred thought.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"Don't play dumb. You know why I'm here.”

Arthur still seemed at a loss.  
  
"What, our little phone spat night before last? That's hardly worth a visit." He scoffed.  
  
"Not that. It's about what happened after that."  
  
Arthur paused, his mouth hanging open before snapping shut. His face flushed, his eyes growing wide.  
  
"That's right. I know what you did."  
  
"Y-you. You know about. Ah...well then. I suppose it's no use... if you really know about that, then you must know.” He gulped. “How I feel."  
  
Alfred's stomach dropped. So it was true. He did hate him.  
  
"I think you made it pretty fucking clear." He growled.  
  
Arthur looked up, alarmed. "I... certainly didn't mean to make you angry. I didn't know you were...that you—"  
  
"Didn't mean to make me angry?” Alfred cut in sharply. “How could someone do something like that and--you _did_ it to hurt me! Why wouldn't I be angry?"  
  
They were standing chest to chest. Emma was watching them carefully, but as she stepped forward, Arthur waved her away, telling her to clear out for the time being. She seemed ready to argue, but one meaningful look from Arthur had her nodding and fetching her coat—and a baker Alfred didn’t recognize—before heading out of the shop.  
  
Once they were alone, Arthur met Alfred’s eyes, his mouth twisting into a frown. He shook his head.  
  
"I didn't do it to make you angry. I didn't even know you could hear me. I can understand if you’re upset, I know you don't feel the same, but do you really hate me for f-feeling this way?"  
  
Alfred was completely confused. "What? Hear you? Hate you? You hate _me_! Why else would you destroy my cake?"  
  
Arthur stared before sneering, pushing Alfred back with his hand on his chest. _Maybe the flab isn’t as obvious as I thought? People seem keen to touch my chest today._  
  
Arthur spoke through gritted teeth. "I didn't destroy your bloody cake." He was still red, and Alfred could see he was trembling a little. Huh. "I haven't the foggiest what you're on about, but you've scared off my staff, and I'm going to have to ask you to leave."  
  
Alfred, running on fumes and rapidly diminishing fury, stood his ground. There was something here, buried in subtext. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it was there. The nougat center beneath Arthur's bitter dark chocolate. It was equal parts thrillingly nostalgic and achingly painful.  
  
"No, no, there isn't anyone else who could have done it, Arthur. You hate me, and you destroyed my cake, and you're playing mind games. Or something. Right?" He said a little helplessly.  
  
Arthur sighed, finally removing his hand. "I don't hate you, Alfred, and destroying your cake isn't something I'd do even if I did. Despite our...difficulties, I respect your talent. Begrudgingly. It would be a terrible thing to destroy your work, and the work of your staff."  
  
Alfred grew a little warm and shifted, bravado slipping. He passed an arm over tired eyes, shrugging a little.  
  
"Someone out there disagrees. Alright. I'll get out of your hair I guess."  
  
Arthur looked relieved. Alfred turned to leave, making it to the door, where he could see the curious new baker peeking in. 

Alfred heard the door to the back open, the familiar squeak and quiet gust of air as Arthur pushed it, and something else beneath it, a low rush of air that sounded like a sigh.  
  
"Wait."  
  
Arthur didn't turn to face him, but cut his eyes toward him, frowning. "What?"  
  
"You. Before, you thought I'd heard something. Something you'd...something that happened after we talked."  
  
Arthur went into the back of the shop. Alfred huffed, following him to the back. "Hey—”  
  
"Haven't you got something better to do with your time? Do you really have so little work to do, you can afford to hang around somewhere you're not wanted? Get out, Alfred!"  
  
Alfred reared back, ready to retaliate, but the underlying caramel was still present. And Alfred was a persistent bugger with years of experience in invading Arthur Kirkland personal space.  
  
"What did you do after we talked? That...had to do with how you feel about me?"  
  
Arthur was pretending to ignore him. He headed deeper into the shop, into his personal workshop, as messy and chaotically beautiful as Alfred remembered. He'd called it the wizard's lair, home to Arthur's dark pastry magicks.  
  
Most of the space was dominated by what appeared to be a half-finished carriage surrounded by sheet pans filled with cake, a bowl of purple icing, and a variety of other edible decorations.  
  
Alfred admired the structure, shaking his head. How Arthur worked in this mess, he couldn't begin to know.  
  
"Arthur, I-"  
  
"This conversation isn't worth having, Alfred"  
  
Arthur was quiet, bent over his desk, eyeing his design and sketching something carefully on the paper. "You'll have to take my word on that. I can assure you, my feelings are...not of consequence to you. They won't do you any good, and it will certainly do me no good to share them.”  
  
They stayed in silence a moment. When Arthur realized Alfred wasn't going to budge, he pushed himself up, turning to gaze at him with distant, hooded eyes.  
  
"I don't have anything to offer you, Alfred. You should try to find out who destroyed your cake, you know. That's a serious offense. Have you called the police?"  
  
"I don't hate you either, you know."  
  
Arthur looked unimpressed.  
  
"I really don't. All that from before, it was just—it was just because—"  
  
"We've been over this."  
  
"And you won't forgive me!"  
  
"it's not that I won't forgive you, Alfred. I can. I do. If you want my forgiveness, you've got it. But that's not the issue here."

Alfred’s head was swimming, but he pressed on. Typical. "No, the issue is that you're not honest, and I don't know what to do about it."  
  
"What does it matter to you, Alfred?” _Salted caramel_ , Alfred thought distantly, he could hear the tears Arthur was holding back. “I won't tell you anything merely to satisfy your curiosity. I can't do that to myself."  
  
Alfred couldn't help it. He puffed out his cheeks and stomped his foot, like a child. Arthur had always admonished him for it, but he was being so stubborn!  
  
"I don't like this! If you don't hate me, and you forgive me, why can't we be friends then? And why do you treat me like I'm just an inconvenience to you?"  
  
"Why do you care so much? As I said, I won't tell you anything just because you want to know."  
  
Alfred tried to speak, but Arthur apparently wasn’t done yet. "Tell me, Alfred. Tell me why this is so goddamn important to you."  
  
Alfred swallowed hard. He was thirsty, and _dead_ tired. That had to be the reason he was able to speak so candidly. "I...I miss you. We were like, always together before." Alfred chuckled, self-conscious. He pulled at his shirt collar, feeling warm in the frigid air of Arthur's workshop.  
  
"It gets lonely, not having that anymore. We were close." Alfred couldn't look at him anymore. He closed his eyes, bowing his head, but felt dizzy and had to open them again. He really needed to sleep.  
  
Arthur moved closer, but Alfred still couldn't meet his eyes. Arthur reached for his hand, hesitant, before dropping his arm to his side.  
  
"Daft boy. You know it can't be like that again."  
  
_Well. Fuck._ Did this feel worse than when he'd thought Arthur hated him? Fuck, fuck, he would not let Arthur see him cry. He was just worn out, and still upset about the cake, that was all.  
  
"Oh! My dear boy. Don't cry. Please don't cry, Alfred. It's not like that." Arthur tilted his chin up, forcing him to look into his calm green eyes.  
  
"I suppose you have suffered enough. Now it's my turn." Arthur seemed to lose his confidence for a moment, but carried on anyway, his hand still perched and trembling against Alfred's chin.  
  
"We can't go back to the way things were, you've got your own business to run. I can't keep you under my thumb any longer. It's for the best—"  
  
He choked a bit, blushing and drawing back his hand to wave it dismissively.  
  
I can admit to my own selfishness. And since you're ever demanding too much of me, I'll tell you what you're so determined to know."  
  
Here he drew himself up, squaring his shoulders, standing proud as he did when he commanded his staff. But his eyes were still on the verge of tears, Alfred could tell.  
  
"My feelings are...beyond that of friendship. They've been more than that for quite a while. I'm afraid I...won't be satisfied with that, and it's much too painful now after everything to—well. It's not as if I don't want to see you, or I'm outright saying we can't be friends, but it can't be as it was, because my feelings are stronger now, blast it all, and—”  
  
Alfred could taste it. Smooth, sweet, and decadent, the perfect caramel. The tricky, tremulous space between candy and burnt sugar.  
  
"You've got it out of me, so by God, leave me in peace." Arthur turned away with a tell-tale sniff.   
  
Alfred wavered a bit. He was worn out, bewildered, but rather giddy at this admission. He giggled a little, and Arthur glared at him, furrowing his brows as he grabbed a ruler and set about smacking Alfred ruthlessly.  
  
"Yowch! Cool it! What the hell are you doing?" Alfred was outright laughing now, shielding himself from Arthur's weakening blows. He grabbed the arm wielding the ruler, and utilizing years of experience in wrestling his brother, pulled the arm to Arthur’s back and spun him around, pinning Arthur's back to his chest.  
  
He braced himself, expecting a thrown elbow or a bite (Arthur played dirty) but the Englishman simply collapsed against him dramatically.  
  
Releasing his awkward hold on the other’s arm, Alfred embraced him in a full body hug, burying his face against his neck. He might have heard a quiet noise of surprise, but he was already drifting off after just a few seconds with his eyes closed.  
  
"Mm happy. It's good. That's...life's good." His jaw cracked around a yawn. "But I need, like, a solid twenty minutes before I can give like, a good...like. Response." The valley girl was always worse when he was tired. That, and he’d been spending too much time with Felix.  
  
Arthur managed to stay upright but was bent uncomfortably under Alfred's weight. He drew idly on Alfred's skin, voice as soft and silky as buttercream when he spoke.  
  
"You’re happy?"  
  
Alfred nodded sloppily, gathering the strength to pull away. He grinned widely. Arthur steadied him as he started to fall back and ushered him into his office chair. He lifted a hesitant hand to card through Alfred's hair.  
  
"I..."  
  
Alfred grabbed the hand in his hair, lacing their fingers together and attempting to pin the other with a serious look.  
  
"I know this is like, woah! Big moment. But dude. I'm so not gonna be able to handle any love talks. It's all good though. Like. Yeah. It's totally good." He kissed Arthur's knuckles, unabashed, exhausted brain cells attempting to commit the sight of blood-red cheeks and cautiously hopeful eyes to memory. "I love ya a lot."  
  
Arthur snorted, but couldn't suppress a rather delighted smile. "Go to sleep then, you twit. Shall I take you home?"

  
Alfred shook his head and folded his arms against the desk, resting there. "I can nap right here."

* * *

He would awake later to find himself stretched out in the floor of Arthur's workshop, resting on a mass of towels and aprons. His head still ached, but he could think much more clearly. As he massaged his sore shoulders, he replayed the events from earlier in his head, his cheeks growing hot.  
  
He'd been so, so far from cool. Fuck! The hero doesn't react to a love confession with that kind of weak response! He'd totally let Arthur think that his feelings weren't...that Alfred didn't also...that they weren’t going to become kickass boyfriends now.

Well, there was only one thing to do about that. He’d clear up any misunderstandings in a mad sexy way, then they’d totally make out. Satisfied with this plan, Alfred wandered through the empty kitchen to the bathroom and tried to make himself presentable.

When he opened the door to the front of the shop, he was startled to find the muted colors of evening washing the room in vibrant orange. _How long was I asleep?_

Arthur was perched on the stool behind the register, plunking away at the keys at an infuriatingly slow pace. His shoulders were tense, but his voice was calm and even when he spoke.

“Are you feeling better now? It seems you needed a bit more than twenty minutes.” He said, amused.

Alfred strutted slowly toward him, the effort wasted, since Arthur still wasn’t looking his way. He steeled his nerves. “Looks like you’re already closed up. I really did sleep all day, huh? Sorry about that.”

Arthur turned at last, lifting his heavy brows. “Don’t apologize. You needed rest, after the disaster with your cake. Francis rang me about it, by the way. But you pulled off an amazing feat with the replacement.” His smile was all sugar, genuine. “You could have called me as well, you know. I would have helped. Though I suppose you thought me the villain responsible.” He even laughed a little.

 _How the hell is Arthur being so totally awesome right now?_ Alfred’s plan was quickly falling apart. _Where’s all his stodginess gone? Fuck! I can’t handle this level of cute_.

Alfred deflated. Audibly, even. He’d whimpered, just a little.

Arthur looked concerned.

“Are you quite alright, love?

Love, love, love.

“Ah, fuck. I love you.”

 _There it is._ Alfred thought, triumphant, when Arthur froze up instantly, breathless. _Never, ever stop doing that._

“I really do. So, don’t even worry about that anymore! The hero is here!” He puffed out his chest, hands on his hips, smiling.

Arthur twitched, making a great show of forcing himself not to smile. “I see.”

Alfred relaxed, maniacal grin smoothing out. “Is that okay?”

“More than. Come here, will you?”

Alfred made no protests. He closed the distance between them, Arthur standing from the stool to loop his arms around his shoulders, his face resting in the crook of Alfred’s neck.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time.” he whispered.

Alfred wasn’t sure of his next line. He ran a broad hand down Arthur’s back soothingly. “Sorry to keep you waiting. But. I’m here now.”

He felt it was a little lame, but he could feel Arthur’s smile against his skin, could feel him relaxing more in his hold.

“So you are.” Arthur moved to cup Alfred’s face in his hands, gazing up at him. “So you are.” He repeated softly.

Most of Alfred’s romantic experience involved pissing off women and softcore porn, but even he knew when it was time for a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit sexual content ahead-- but no food stuff yet. Avoid chapter three if that's not your thing!

Alfred’s hopeless brain briefly managed a feeling of gratitude for the mouthwash someone had stashed in the back bathroom, before he couldn’t think of anything but Arthur.

Arthur was still holding his face, angling it just as he wanted, anchoring Alfred to him with just the pads of his fingers as he kissed him ruthlessly. The first was a little brief, a solid meeting of lips, quickly followed by a longer, firmer press. Then another, and another, until the breaks for air were so quick and infrequent, Alfred felt his vision going fuzzy.

Arthur let him breathe for a moment, staring at him outright, studying his face as Alfred gasped a little, smiling dopily.

“Um, hi.” Alfred managed, ever eloquent and always needing to say something.

Arthur did not suffer this problem. He pulled away, taking Alfred’s hand and heading toward the back.

The cool air of the bakery made Alfred realize how overheated he’d been getting. He watched Arthur moving things around, more focused on the muscles of his arms and legs underneath his crisp black outfit than what the other was doing.

He snapped to attention with Arthur rapped his knuckles on the mostly-cleared surface of the large, low stainless-steel table.

“Hop up here for me, dearest.”

Alfred obliged again, a little confused. He was distracted soon enough by Arthur pressing himself between his knees to kiss him soundly once more.

The reason for the change in scenery became clear as Arthur began to press more insistently against him, a hand on the back of his neck. He licked at Alfred’s lower lip, and Alfred groaned as he opened his mouth to invite in Arthur’s merciless tongue. _He wanted me on a table because he plans to fucking eat me_.

Well, Alfred had no problem with that.

He tugged Arthur even closer, hands attempting to explore the skin underneath his shirt, but halting every few seconds as Arthur did some sort of devil magic with his teeth and tongue and lips. Arthur abandoned his mouth to place kisses across his cheeks, his chin, and down his neck, where he stopped to leave a bruise. He sucked at the skin, and Alfred brought his knees in hard, gripping Arthur’s hips between them as he yelped a little, shuddering. Arthur could feel the other’s fingers grabbing at the fabric at the nape of his neck. He panted hotly, licking his way back up Alfred’s neck before pulling back to look at Alfred’s glowing, gorgeous face, eyes screwed up tight.

Arthur was a pastry chef by trade. He was an artist with cakes and cookies, surrounded day-in and day-out by sugar and fat. He knew the dangers of overindulging.

But as he took in the sight of the man he’d wanted so long, sky-blue eyes now half-lidded and watching only him, a shy tongue poking out to wet kiss-bitten lips—he was happy to gorge himself to death, really.

Arthur gripped Alfred’s chin, thumb pressing at his bottom lip. He leaned in close, watching in delight as Alfred’s breath quickened, as he twisted himself closer to the edge of the table.

“I’m going to devour you.” He smiled, a little wicked, but love-drunk just the same. “Is that alright?”

Alfred was too stupid with lust to comprehend for a moment. He knew what he wanted. The heat of Arthur’s body in front, the freezing tabletop in back. Those piercing eyes showing no hint of tears, no longer shielding any pain. He wanted Arthur to kiss him, hold him, fuck him, do whatever he _wanted_ , whatever he’d apparently wanted for some time. He wanted _Arthur._

“God, yes.” He said gruffly, attempting a coy smirk. “Do your worst.”

Arthur smiled, releasing Alfred’s face to skim his hands appreciatively down his sides and over his spread thighs, squeezing and massaging his legs. “I’ll give you my best, love. But—” He pulled back so suddenly, Alfred lost his balance, one foot hitting the floor.

“Um—”

“Sorry, just a sec. Need to grab something.”

Alfred wanted to protest, but Arthur was already scampering toward a cabinet, throwing open the doors and fumbling through it. “Where is—heavens, why can’t people put anything where it’s meant to go. Bloody useless labels. I know we’ve got loads—ah! Here.”

He returned quickly, carrying a bottle of fancy-looking olive oil, which Alfred stared at blankly for a moment.

“Are you going to put olive oil up my ass? Really? What _year_ is it?”

Arthur was undeterred. He sat the bottle to the side and returned to groping Alfred, scooting the other closer as he pressed his fingertips into the dimples in Alfred’s curved back.

“It’s 2019, and bakeries aren’t typically stocked with lubricant, I’m afraid. I don’t make a habit of fucking people in my bakery.”

Alfred giggled, lifting his arms so Arthur could rid him of his shirt. “I sure hope not. I’ve never fucked anyone in mine—I’ve never fucked anyone in _any_ bakery.” He was a little excited by the idea, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Cross it off your bucket list. Shall we carry on?”

He’d said it with such an air of propriety, Alfred couldn’t help but laugh. “Let’s not dally, my good man. Pip pip cheerio!” He fell into a fit of giggles quite literally, laying back on the tabletop and hissing at the feel of the metal against his skin. He couldn’t sit up though, as Arthur had seen his opportunity to attack and had deftly climbed onto the table to straddle him.

“Are you quite done, my sweet?”

Alfred’s laughter petered out, and he nodded. “Yeah. You’re so British. It’s so hot.”

Arthur paused in his decent toward Alfred’s chest. “Is it really?”

“Of course it fucking is. It’s the hottest.”

Arthur hummed in response, nosing his way across a pectoral and kissing Alfred’s nipple experimentally, his cock twitching at Alfred’s encouraging sigh. He flicked his tongue across one as he pinched the other, and Alfred moaned, fingers once again under the other’s shirt.

“You need to be nakeder.”

Too horny to be properly scandalized by such atrocious grammar, Arthur obliged him, unbuttoning his uniform top and tossing it away, prepared to return to the task at hand, only to be surprised by Alfred’s warm palms skidding over his chest. Arthur managed not to fall back as Alfred sat up, holding him in his lap and looking him over.

He felt out-of-sorts as Alfred slid a thumb across his nipple and scored his collarbone with his teeth, muttering all sorts of embarrassing compliments about his body as he shifted to hold him close, rubbing his back and grabbing his rear.

Arthur shook his head, pushing the other back down, ignoring the furrow of Alfred’s brows.

“Later, for that. I want to make this about you.”

Alfred wasn’t hearing it. “It’s about us. But okay. I’m totally gonna lick you all over later, though. Might even put some icing on, haha!” He winked, clearly joking, but Arthur, who was no longer thinking with his brain, immediately hopped away again.

“Arthur, for fuck’s sake!”

What to use, what to use? There were so many options. His mind flashed to the cake and icing he’d had in the workshop earlier, a test batch he hadn’t been able to work with, since Alfred had fallen asleep there. They’d been stored away so they wouldn’t spoil, but he was able to fetch the two sheet pans and the large bowl of buttercream, tottering back with his arms full.

He was greeted with silence as he placed the items next to them and resumed his position.

Alfred was _glaring_ at him. “Are you joking around right now? Cause this is supposed to be our mad sexy, super romantic first time, and you are _not_ going to get all Kinky McKinkerson in here!”

Arthur was taken aback, his dick brain finally checking in with his brain-brain to find where the problem lied. His brain-brain realized how weird this must seem, and he backpedaled, hands up placatingly.

“I didn’t mean to—it’s not meant to be perverted, it just seemed a good opportunity, and neither of us have done this in a bakery before, so I thought it might be fun to add a bit of pastry to the mix. I wasn’t going to do anything sinister, just lick—well, a bit of icing here or there, and I don’t know what the cake was for—”

Alfred gripped his hair in his hands and arched in a way which looked far more like frustration than sexual ecstasy.

“My love—”

“No, wait. It’s fine. This is okay. I really, really want you, and this is so not going to derail—and the olive oil, god. Impromptu love confession sex is like, way less seamless than the movies make it out to be.”

Arthur pulled Alfred’s hands away from his hair, dropping kisses between his knuckles and looking at him through his lashes. “No more distractions, or, er, foodstuffs, darling.” He pulled a finger into his mouth, and Alfred choked on air.

He moved from finger to finger, sloppily sucking on each before releasing the last with an audible pop. “You’re plenty delicious on your own.”

Alfred yanked him down for an open-mouthed kiss, this time arching up to press their chests together, hands gripping Arthur’s ass roughly. He began to reach for the fly of his uniform pants, and Arthur sat up on his knees to help him get his pants and underwear off, awkwardly lifting each leg.

Alfred watched him reverently, eyes glued to his erection as he unconsciously gnawed on his lower lip. “God, babe, you’re _so_ beautiful.”

Arthur zipped his lips shut with his fingers, bending himself low again to hide against Alfred’s (much, much more beautiful) body. He finally got back to his earlier task—kissing and marking that strong tan chest, mapping out his ticklish ribs with open fondness. He reached Alfred’s hips, and they managed to get his jeans and boxers off with relative ease.

Arthur couldn’t help it—he had no patience, the moment Alfred was finally, actually naked beneath him. He pressed their hips together, sliding his cock against Alfred’s, his gasp lost in Alfred’s surprised moan.

They rutted together quite helplessly for a few minutes, mouths haphazardly meeting, Arthur’s hands spread wide against Alfred’s sides, Alfred’s hands desperately gliding down Arthur’s back before he clawed his way back up to his shoulders. They were a mess, and they’d barely just started.

Arthur managed to at least slow their frantic frotting, swirling his tongue in the hollow of Alfred’s throat before pushing himself up, his hips still moving.

“I want very much to swallow that lovely cock of yours, Alfred. Thoughts?”

Alfred, apparently, had none, he sucked in his bottom lip, released it in a near-pout, repeated. He swept his fingers up his own body, once again gripping his hair, fingers clenching damp curls as he panted out an answer at last.

“If—you don’t mind—me cumming down your thr-ohh.” He broke off in a moan when Arthur slammed his hips down a little rougher and pinched his chest. “Cause I won’t la-last.”

“How long does it take you to get hard again?”

“Fifteen minutes max.”

Arthur snorted a little.

“What, is that too long? I mean, we could maybe—”

Arthur hooked the other’s mouth open with his thumb and licked his teeth. “It’s too bloody—it’s perfect, you idiotic, impossible man who I love. Now, scoot back on the table for me.”

Alfred was following instructions quite well today, and Arthur was struck by a ridiculous thought that perhaps many of their past problems would have been solved if he’d just bent the other over a table like this before each of his shifts.

He pushed away the thoughts of an impetuous former Alfred in the throes of passion. He had the current issue here, spread out on a still too-cluttered table, cock stiff and waiting for him.

No time like the present, Arthur decided, and with no warning whatsoever, he gripped the base and took in as much as he could.

Alfred shouted. He thumped his fist down hard, and an empty cake pan bounced off the table, though neither of the table’s living occupants gave a damn. Arthur was giving all he could, lips stretched wide around the width of Alfred’s cock, tongue rubbing madly against him as he bobbed his head up and down, up and down.

It was absolute torture, and Alfred was going to go bald if he didn’t stop tugging at his own scalp. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch Arthur’s, though, so he clawed uselessly at the unforgiving metal beneath him, trying to keep still as Arthur made a particularly obscene noise, followed by an outright _moan._

Alfred was making a low, desperate _ahh_ sound over and over. Arthur pumped his own cock in response, groaning at the feel of Alfred inside of him, the pulse of his member against the inside of his mouth. He let Alfred fall from his mouth heavily, catching his breath, before he began to tease just the head, pulling back his foreskin a little and sucking gently at the tip.

“Mm gonna cum. Like, right nuh—Ah! Oh!” Alfred said with some urgency, and Arthur redoubled his efforts, swallowing him again. He was rewarded with the taste of Alfred’s spend and the utterly unbearable sight and sound of the other man coming undone, arms above his head now, head tossing back and forth as he whined.

Arthur hung his head, staying put as he fisted himself to a hasty but not unsatisfying finish.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit sexual content, including foodplay, ahead. Also, grab a snack cause this is long, y'all.

Once he’d caught his breath, Arthur carefully maneuvered himself to the other’s side, draping a leg over him.

Alfred lifted his head a little, looking dazed. “Isn’t it your turn?” He asked, his usual eagerness returning. He rolled over with a bit of a wince, kissing Arthur sweetly on the nose.

Arthur tucked his head beneath Alfred’s chin to hide his face. “No need for that. Taken care of. Shall I set a timer for fifteen minutes?” He teased.

Alfred didn’t take the bait. “What do you mean ‘taken care of?’ Did you do it yourself?” He sounded a little cheated.

“Habit, I suppose.” Arthur said in his usual self-deprecating style. He marveled at Alfred’s energy as he recovered from what should have been a knock-out orgasm.

“I wanted a taste of you as well, yanno.” Alfred said, smooching the top of Arthur’s head.

Arthur was unfazed. “Remember, that’s for later. Right now I’m focusing on you.”

Alfred whined. “Why’s it gotta be later?”

Arthur bit at the other’s throat, hard. “Stop that, will you? It’s only fair. I told you I’ve been waiting ages for you, so let me enjoy myself. You can be patient.”

“And how are you so sure you’ve been waiting longer than me?”

Arthur riposted with ease. “Well, we can settle it easily. Why don’t you tell me when you started to have feelings for me?”

Alfred puffed up immediately. “You go first!”

“Nuh-uh.”

Alfred reached behind Arthur, making a racket as he tried to scrape cake out of one of the sheet pans. He managed to bring a corner to his mouth, stuffing it in and speaking quickly. “Mm not sure. Figured it out sometime before I left. But it was before that, I just wasn’t ready to admit it, but it was definitely there. And I don’t know exactly when I did admit it. But we were already fighting a lot then, and I didn’t know what to do about it.” Alfred finished his snack, looking sheepish and expectant. He was holding Arthur quite tightly, not that he minded in the slightest.

“That hardly answered my question.”

Alfred shrugged. “I’m not good at this kind of stuff, Art. I mean, the honest answer is that it’s been this way since forever, but that sounds like a cop out. It’s just—” Arthur thumbed at a reddening ear. “You know, it was always you. D-do you know what I mean?”

Arthur took mercy on him, kissing him fully on the lips. “I understand perfectly.” He said, proud of the firmness of his voice, no hints of the water pricking at his eyes.

Arthur smiled dopily. “Then—”

“You can still wait.”

Alfred barked out a laugh. “Fine. I’ll wait ‘til you spoil me with the chance to suck your dick.” Arthur rolled his eyes in response, but the comment made his skin warm. He kissed Alfred again, and again, and once more for good measure, kneading at his muscular arms in reverence.

As his fingers strayed lower, Alfred broke their kiss. “Hey—”

Arthur paused, his fingers rubbing at the skin of Alfred’s lower back. “Yes?”

Alfred cleared his throat. “I feel like I should probably let you know I’ve never—um, well, I haven’t been catcher, right? So. Just a head’s up.”

He leaned forward for another kiss, which Arthur accepted distractedly. It wasn’t a surprise, necessarily, but he hadn’t been thinking about it. Maybe spontaneous sex on a table wasn’t the best idea.

“It would certainly be more comfortable for you if we moved this to a bed. Do you want to head back to my place?”

Alfred looked surprised. “You serious? No way. You got me all excited for kinky table sex. Plus, I’m already…uh.”

Arthur looked between them. _Fifteen minutes my arse_. He felt equal parts envious and excited. “If you’re sure, then—” He managed to find the oil, pulling it close, and settled in for more sloppy kissing, groping Alfred’s ass unforgivingly.

Alfred was rocking his hips impatiently against him, gripping Arthur’s hips with force. But Arthur could sense his nervousness, feel the near spastic movement of his body. He breathed out slowly before pulling Alfred around him, one leg curled up and Alfred’s fully erect cock pressing against Arthur’s own hardening one.

He wrapped his arms around his head and peppered his face with kisses. “My dearest love.” He hiked Alfred’s leg up higher, drawing patterns against his hip. “Try to relax for me, alright? And you have to tell me if it hurts too much—it—well, you know it’ll hurt a little. But _tell_ me if it’s too much.”

Alfred nodded, leg clenching and unclenching. But his breaths were evening out, his grin losing its twitchiness. “Let’s get this show on the road, babe.”

Arthur tried not to think of the dollar amount of what he was using to coat his fingers. He was easily distracted by how unintentionally cute Alfred was being, squeaking at the first touch of slick fingers at his entrance and leaning forward sweetly for a kiss, eyes closed.

Arthur shushed him, pushing in and nipping at his lips as a distraction. “You’re doing so well, love. Wonderful.”

He continued stretching him, one finger, then two, trying to smooth the crease of his forehead with soft kisses. As Alfred’s began to heat up around him, he lowered his leg, removing his fingers and coaxing the other onto his back. He managed to hook his discarded uniform with his toes, folding the top and pants to form a rather flat pillow for Alfred’s back.

“Artie—”

“Just a moment pet. Lift your hips for me.”

Alfred obeyed. _What dimension have I entered?_ Arthur wondered. With the makeshift pillow in place, Arthur continued with his task, settling between Alfred’s legs. He ventured a change in the angle, focusing on keeping Alfred comfortable. He nearly missed what Alfred muttered.

“At least the oil smells good. Haha.”

Arthur grunted. “Good enough to eat, eh?”

Alfred laughed, tilting his head. “That’s not a thing people actually do, right?”

“Eat olive oil?”

Alfred thumped the other’s shoulder, frowning as Arthur spread his fingers. “No! People don’t—their mouths—”

 _Ah._ “Of course they do, silly boy. I’ve never done it myself, to be honest, but it’s hardly the most deviant idea.”

Alfred didn’t respond. Arthur glanced up, concerned, to find his lover with his arm over his face, red as a beet. “Am I hurting you? Need a break?” He began to pull out, but Alfred shook his head.

“No, no. That’s not it. I mean, you can keep going.”

Arthur did not. He studied Alfred curiously, kissing the inside of his thighs and delighting in the contented sigh from above. “Something bothering you?”

Alfred still didn’t answer. Arthur rested a moment between his legs, breathing in the smell of oil and sex—

“Oh. Would you like me to use my mouth on you?”

Alfred’s knee knocked him hard in the head, and Arthur shot up, surprised. “Sorry, sorry! Um, didn’t you already do that? I’m okay, so—”

“Do you want me to eat you out, I mean? I’m not opposed.”

Alfred looked at him, face neutral. “Is that too weird?”

Arthur managed not to roll his eyes. “Hardly. You’ll need to get on your knees, though.”

Alfred flipped over, embarrassment forgotten and replaced with enthusiasm. He did so love to get what he wanted, and Arthur spoiled the absolute hell out of him.

 _So worth it._ Arthur thought as he took in the sight of Alfred on all fours, attempting to look back at him. “Well?”

“Give me a second, brat.” He came to him just the same, hands settling on his tan bottom. He parted the globes, breathing hot against Alfred’s loosened hole.

He tentatively swiped his tongue against him. Alfred squirmed, humming a bit. Arthur tried again, slower, dragging his tongue slowly and swirling it against his entrance.

Alfred began to pant, opening his legs a little wider. “Tha’s good. Is—are you okay?”

Arthur smiled, bolstered by the response. “Never better.” He licked away the rest of the oil, probing his tongue inside and gripping his own cock at the noise Alfred made in response.

“Is it—haha—does it taste like ahhlive…o-oil?”

“Not anymore, but you taste fine on your own.” Arthur’s voice was growing a little hoarse. He should have brought some water bottles to the table.

Alfred extended his arms, turning his head toward Arthur. “Hey, though. What about. Uh, you could try the icing.”

Arthur stared.

He smacked Alfred’s ass, the sound echoing loudly. “You were cross with me!”

Alfred wiggled his hips from side to side, chirping out a laugh. “It’ll be more fun for you, though! If you want to. I’m just saying?” He grinned.

Arthur was already reaching for the bowl. “It’s plenty fun already. But fine.” He grinned back.

Alfred returned to his former position, yelping as Arthur swiped the cold icing down the crack of his ass.

Arthur started slowly again, licking the icing from the bottom up, lapping up all the delicious buttercream. He didn’t pause, returning to suckle at the sweet and sticky skin. Alfred’s voice shot up a few octaves, and Arthur’s entire body throbbed when he heard him choke out his name.

He swiped on more icing, focusing on which motions of his tongue elicited the best reactions. When he reached for the bowl again, Alfred grabbed his hand.

Arthur chanced a glance at him, freezing at the expression on his face.

Alfred’s eyes were blown wide, his cheeks blotched red, lips handing open and glistening. And saying something. _Oops._

“Sorry, love. What was that?”

Alfred pouted. “I said, if you keep doing it, I’ll cum. It’s b-been a while since I uh, marathoned? Um.”

Arthur regarded him for a moment, then pushed his face into his rear again, flattening his tongue against him and flicking it up and down, rejoicing in Alfred’s muffled scream.

He looked up again to see Alfred with his fist in his mouth, near tears. Well, he had to torture him just a _little_.

“Don’t look at me like that. I wanted you to feel good, remember? And you seem to be enjoying it.”

Before Alfred could complain more, Arthur gently lowered his hips, then leaned against his back, nipping the back of his sweaty neck.

Alfred said something into the table.

“Come again?”

“Not yet! Haha. Just kidding. I said, don’t make fun of me. I told you this was new for me.”

Arthur worked his fingers into tense shoulders, nosing at Alfred’s scalp. “I’m not making fun of you, gorgeous. Here, let’s have a cuddle.” He rolled to the side, Alfred doing the same, and they resumed their previous position, legs twined together.

Alfred reached for the oil himself, refusing to meet Arthur’s eyes as he reached for his hand, dumping too much oil onto his fingers. “I think I’m nearly ready.”

Indeed, Arthur’s fingers moved more easily inside of him, and he began to stretch him further, preparing for the next step. He could sense Alfred’s patience reaching its limit. Looking around, he noticed the cake.

“You’ve not eaten in hours, love. Do you want more cake?”

“Ah! Yeah. Ha—do you want some too?” Alfred grabbed a handful of cake, spilling crumbs over them both as he pulled it from behind Arthur, stuffing it in his mouth.

Arthur studied the crumbs littered across Alfred’s chest. Without warning, he licked them away. At the same time, he shoved his fingers a little deeper, and Alfred threw his head back, moaning.

 _There it is._ Arthur began to thrust his fingers in mercilessly. Alfred managed to lift his head, and with a face like the devil himself, his eyes narrowed with intent.

He got more cake, this time foregoing his mouth and crumbling it up, dropping the pieces across his own chest. Arthur didn’t hesitate, licking the cake away obscenely, both of them beginning to moan and move together.

Alfred was coming undone. He was breathing hard, his body tingling with a pleasure he’d never experienced before. He tried to focus, watching Arthur watching him. He reached for more cake but stuck his fingers in the icing. Instead of popping them in his mouth, he smeared the icing against Arthur’s lips, kissing it off messily.

Arthur had moved to three fingers, rendering Alfred helpless to do anything more than cry out and whimper his name. Remembering his earlier aim, Arthur dipped a fistful of cake in icing, offering it to Alfred.

Alfred took the fingers into his mouth, groaning at the sweetness. He sucked on the webbing of his fingers, cleaning off every piece of cake and licking his lips.

It was too much.

Arthur pulled out his fingers, abruptly shoving Alfred onto his back before hopping off the table. Alfred yelped as he was yanked toward the edge, legs hanging off before Arthur wrapped them around his hips.

“Are you ready?”

Alfred angled his hips up, looping his arms around Arthur’s neck. He smiled serenely. “Go for it!”

Arthur snorted, taking one last look at his love, filthy with cake and icing, slick and open and waiting for him.

He eased inside of him, slow as molasses, studying Alfred’s face for any signs of pain. Alfred closed his eyes, thin blond eyebrows pushed down, but the edges of his lips tilting up as he arched and sighed.

It was far, far too tight. Arthur’s legs were trembling, heat building far too quickly in his stomach as he began to rock steadily in and out. As Alfred released his neck, Arthur shifted the other man’s legs to his shoulders, driving deep in search of his prostate.

Alfred mmphed and ahhed, attempting to use his hooked knees as leverage to bounce his own hips down.

Arthur lost his focus, swimming in feeling alone as he thrust inside of the man he’d wanted for so bloody long. He watched his cock disappear into that clenching heat, shining with oil and precum.

“Ah-Arthur?

He nearly gave himself whiplash, snapping his head up at the sound of his name. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, but, my back kinda hurts?” He tapered off at the end, uncertain.

Arthur, with great effort, ceased the motion of his hips, pulling out reluctantly. “Would you be more comfortable on your stomach?”

“I guess? Stupid table. Can we try?”

Arthur stepped back, motioning for Alfred to roll over. He did so, stretching briefly before planting his feet on the cold floor. “Arthur…”

“I’m here, love.” He draped himself over Alfred’s back, kissing all of the skin he could reach and attempting to warm him up, rubbing his hands up and down his sides. “Hold out a little longer, it’s not like I’ll bloody last.”

Alfred giggled happily, propping himself on folded arms. “I’m ready. Do your worst, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you mean my best?” Arthur murmured, pressing in far more quickly than before.

The position change had been a brilliant idea. He could move much more easily, and found his prostate quickly, abusing it with finesse. Alfred practically screamed.

“Yes, yes, yes, there—fuck, fuck me, fuck me, don’t stop, right there—”

“N-not. Bloody helping. Going to cum. Please.” Arthur buried his face in Alfred’s face, pace not slowing in the slightest, pulling out almost completely before pushing in completely, burying himself to the hilt and relishing the undulation of Alfred’s body beneath him.

“Cum inside m—”

“Honestly, you _can’t_ say that.” Arthur choked out helplessly. Alfred just continued yelling. Arthur pulled his hips back a bit, reaching blindly for his bouncing cock, which he began to jerk off quite violently.

Alfred’s whole body spasmed, his nails scraping unpleasantly against the stainless steel as he sobbed out Arthur’s name, coating his hand in cum.

Alfred was pretty sure he heard Arthur whisper _Thank Christ_ against his back before he finished, biting one last bruise into Alfred’s neck for good measure.

As Alfred swam back to the surface of consciousness following his _second_ orgasm of the evening, he became aware of several things.

One, the table was very hard.

Two, the table was very cold.

Three, the edge of the table was cutting off circulation to his legs.

Four, he was stuck to the table—maybe—thanks to the remnants of cake, icing, and spit on his chest.

“Gross.”

“What? What did you say?”

Alfred pushed up a bit, but Arthur wasn’t moving. “Let me up, this is super uncomfortable, dude.”

Arthur sniffed haughtily, but acquiesced, standing on unsteady legs. “How utterly romantic.”

“ _You_ can be the one fucked into a metal table in a cold bakery next time, babe. Which was totally awesome by the way, so we should definitely do it again, but let’s have some dinner and a shower before that, kay?”

Arthur helped him up, looking a little vulnerable. Alfred gave him a reassuring grin, hugging him around the middle and rubbing their noses together.

“What do you think? Ready to eat something other than me?” Alfred winked.

Arthur snorted, eyeing the remnants of dessert on Alfred’s chest. He could go for seconds, really.


	4. Chapter 4

They were eating kebabs in their pajamas in Arthur’s flat.

Alfred’s hair was wet. It smelled like Arthur’s cheap coconut shampoo. Arthur stared at the way it curled at his temples as Alfred inhaled his food and tapped at his phone.

“Man. Matt’s pissed as hell. He said he was gonna call the cops, ‘til you talked to Francis and he let everyone know I wasn’t missing. Ha!”

“Silly boy. Didn’t you have work to do today? "

“Mm, yeah, but my team handled it. I seriously owe ‘em, what with…” He trailed off, eyes glued to his screen.

Arthur just watched him, trying to process his new reality without losing his mind, or bursting into tears. He was doing tremendously so far.

“Holy _shit._ ” Alfred slapped at the table, sending a dirty fork flying.

“Oi!”

“Holy shit, holy sh— _Arthur!_ I know who trashed my cake!”

“Who?” Arthur leaned forward, sliding Alfred’s food away from his flailing limbs. “Was it a former client?”

“No! It was the FBI!” Alfred yelled, triumphantly.

Arthur ignored him completely. He started to clear the table.

“Arthur, I’m serious! You remember the UFO I spotted last year, right?!”

“Alfred, _why—” Why do I bother? Why am I responding to this? “_ Why would the FBI destroy your cake, just because you’re a little barmy?”

“To send a _message!_ Holy crap—that’s the only explanation!”

“Really, my lovely? That’s the only explanation?”

Alfred was tapping away again.

Arthur propped his chin in his hand and just watched him. He noticed a speck of sauce at the corner of Alfred’s mouth, and smirked.

* * *

Four years later, Alfred snuck away from his new in-laws and threw himself into a chair, stealing the rest of Felix’ champagne.

“What a day. Who knew weddings were so stressful?”

Ekaterina laughed merrily, round cheeks aglow. “Perhaps if you hadn’t stayed up all night working on your own wedding cake…”

“Like I could let Arthur outdo me!”

“I think you both did admirable jobs. I have never seen a cake competition between two grooms.” Kiku supplied.

Alfred just grinned, stealing the new glass of champagne Felix had just returned with.

The ensuing battle was interrupted by Toris, appearing at the table and twisting his hands. “Al, can I speak to you in private for a moment?”

The rest of the staff cleared away, and Toris took a seat, facing Alfred with a somber expression. “Al, I have a confession to make. I’ve kept it to myself for four years, but I know you still suspect Arthur might have drunkenly destroyed your cake years ago…”

Alfred leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Actually, I think it was the FBI. But it’s easier to pretend I think Arthur did it. Plus, it makes him super mad. What about it though?”

Toris lowered his head, his hands clenched in front of him. “It wasn’t the FBI either. It was me.”

“You?! No way, Toris. You worked harder than anyone on that cake—why would you ever do something so terrible?”

Toris sniffed, looking up imploringly. “The client—the people we made the cake for—they made me do it, they knew you’d replace it at a discount. Th-they were Russian mafia or s-something, and—”

“Holy shit! Are you in danger? Are they after you?” Alfred gripped one of Toris’ shoulders hard, searching his face. “Do we need to get you somewhere safe?”

Toris burst into tears, accepting Alfred’s immediate hug. “No, I’m totally fine. B-but I’m so sorry, I should have told you from the beginning, I just didn’t want anyone else involved. Oh, I’m so so—”

“Toris, dude, I’m sorry that happened. That’s awful. But if you hadn’t trashed the cake, I wouldn’t be getting married today. So don’t even stress about that, ‘kay? I owe you!”

Arthur sidled up to the table. “Mr. Jones-Kirkland, a certain British matriarch tells me you were complaining of ah, ‘severe stomach pain’ and needed to get away immediately. You know English women don’t fall for that kind of shit, right?” Arthur was trying to look severe and failing miserably.

“Sorry sweetheart. I think it was something in your cake, actually.”

“That would probably be the poison taking effect.”

“Knew it. You’re just after the incredible fortune I’ve amassed from being a wildly successful pastry chef.”

Toris excused himself, leaving the newlyweds to banter. He hugged Alfred hard, whispering his gratitude in his ear.

Once he was out of earshot, Arthur took his vacated chair and smiled as Alfred lifted his hand and kissed his newly-placed ring.

“What was that about?”

“Oh, Toris was confessing his secret, unrequited love. He’s like, the fifth person so far.”

“What a tragedy. Don’t think you’re not going right back to my mother and listening to the same story you’ve heard one hundred times, about me falling into a lake, while you and I both know it was actually Liam. That’s what you signed up for.”

Alfred glanced around. Well, there were a few people lingering nearby, but it’d be alright. He lifted Arthur’s hand again, sucking one of his fingers into his mouth.

Arthur yanked his hand away quickly, whacking Alfred in the stomach.

“Careful! We barely got me into this vest.”

Arthur kissed him soundly. “I look forward to getting you out of it.” He whispered. “But first, we have to survive our own wedding reception.”

“You gonna stay by my side?”

“Always.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for reading this, it was really a labor of love. If you don't mind, leave a comment letting me know what you think. And feel free to point out errors...I wrote a lot of this on a phone.


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